


Sumac’s Grove

by Thorny



Series: Witcher Boys in Peril [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Cults, Cussing, Drugged Sex, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Monsters, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Prostate Massage, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles, Vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 02:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19190440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorny/pseuds/Thorny
Summary: Geralt of Rivia falls victim to a cult of villagers who worship a rather randy Ancient Leshen...





	Sumac’s Grove

**Author's Note:**

> This was a fic I wrote some time ago and never intended for it to see the light of day. But then I finally caved and made an AO3 account for a different fandom and decided to dump this here too.
> 
> Surprisingly not a crack fic - but most definitely improbable. 
> 
> Enjoy! Or don’t. Tell me how horrible I am in the comments!  
> (Also let me know if I missed any tags...)

Geralt of Rivia gave his stoic horse Roach an encouraging nudge as they rode through the cold, drizzling rain that seemed to seep into every pore. The witcher was between contracts and making his way across Velen. It was hard to tell by sight with the constant cloud cover, but the grey-haired Geralt knew it was nearing early evening. Roach gave a snort as they passed a honeysuckle bush. The witcher glanced to the left down the opposite path and spotted a couple of tents thrown up near the side of the road. Curious, he shifted his weight in the saddle and directed his horse around the crossroads.

Several men clad in various amounts of armor but all bearing the local Baron’s insignia puttered around the mini camp trying to stay dry. One young lad perked up at seeing the armored rider and hailed Geralt with an enthusiastic wave.  
“H-hey! It's a Witcher! Cap’n, there’s a witcher on the road!” The boy called out, summoning a taller, rounder, older man with a leather skullcap and a mustachioed scowl. Geralt offered a simple nod once he stopped Roach at a respectable distance.  
“Witcher, fortuitous of yeh t’head this way. We’ve got a proposition for yeh,” the older man crossed his arms. The rest of the men huddled around the closest tent overhang, eavesdropping painfully blatantly.  
“Something creep out of the woods your boys couldn’t handle?” Geralt snarked, knowing the Baron’s men weren’t known for their honesty.  
“Yeh could say that.” The soldier paused, pointedly giving his men a look before letting out a gruff sigh, “Up a’ways down the road, there’s a village what refusin’ to pay the Baron’s taxes. When we send a collection, they return empty handed and dazed. After a good coupla’ days, they snap out of it, but don’t remember ever goin’ to the village!”  
Geralt frowned. This did sound like something he was more equipped to handle than a handful of almost-mercenaries.  
“So, we’re willin’ t’pay for you to go find out what those sneaky peasants are doing t’our men.”  
“Fine, I’ll take a look,” Geralt rolled his shoulder before leaning in close to the Baron’s man, “But are you sure there isn’t a chance your boys were being paid off?”  
The mustache furrowed right along with the man’s bushy brows. “Not a chance.”  
The witcher shrugged. “Your coin.” With a confirming nod from the captain, Geralt sent Roach down the aforementioned path with a swift kick.

Geralt rode passed several barren fields before reaching a low stone fence designating the beginning of a village. He hadn’t noticed before, but as he brought Roach to a walk the rain had stopped. The witcher snorted as he rode past the signage designating this place was called ‘Sumac Grove’; fitting as he could see the thick looming forest just on the other side of the small town. Pulling Roach to a halt at the small Inn, he slid out of the saddle and gave the horse’s reins a cursory loop on the wooden fence; Roach wouldn’t go anywhere unless Geralt called.  
“Hullo, stranger,” An older woman warmly greeted him as she passed with a basket of eggs. He watched her for a moment, trying to gauge if anything untoward was going on, but she seemed completely normal. There was a slight scent to wind he couldn’t quite place, but it didn’t seem to be adversely affecting the witcher.  
“Uh, evening,” He managed back, rolling his shoulder again before padding up the little dirt path to the Inn’s door.

Warmth poured out into the cool evening air as Geralt opened the door and a wash of that same strange scent hit the witcher. He glanced around and spotted a huge bubbling pot over the firepit.  
“Evenin’ master Witcher!” The dark haired innkeep greeted just as warmly as the old woman. Geralt nodded back, earning a hearty chuckle from the ‘keep.  
“Can I get’cha anything? Drink? Food? The stew’s pretty good this evening if I do say so myself.”  
“What’s in it?” The Witcher pried, still not able to place the smell.  
“Oh, bit of chicken, bit of potato, lots of fresh herbs from the forest,” the villager answered with a jovial grin. Gerald hm'd noncommittally.  
The door swung open to let two farmers inside, chatting between themselves excitedly as they took up a table and waved at the barkeeper. Gerald watched them, but didn’t see anything suspicious. He finally nodded to the barkeeper and took up a seat nearby, folding his hands under his chin as he watched several more villagers trickle in for the evening. Soon, a steaming clay bowl emitting a lovely earthy smell and a mug of ale were offered to the witcher. Geralt tucked in, not realizing how hungry the day’s ride had made him, noting that the ‘keep was a really good cook. 

As he ate, he people-watched. Farmers, a few local merchants, a few wives, and a small-time blacksmith were eating and drinking after their hard day’s work. Mostly talk of harvest, a young woman’s newborn, and the local herbalist-in-training from a nearby druid. That caught Geralt’s attention. A druid out in Velen? Not unheard of, but certainly might be worth looking into. As he took another sip of his mug, he felt a warm tingle shoot up his spine and froze mid-sip. No one in the tavern seemed to take interest as the witcher slowly tried to put the mug down before passing out on the table, spilling the remainder of the stew.

\-----

Groggily, Geralt came to. He quickly assessed he wasn’t in the Inn anymore on account of being tied up, gagged, naked save for his leggings and medallion, and laying on something cold and hard under a thick canopy of trees. The witcher flicked his gaze to the side, realizing he was at the center of some sort of loose stone circle in the forest. Villagers were gathered outside the circle with a spattering of torches to Geralt’s left, chanting something under their breath. The witcher snorted, grit his teeth against the cloth gag and tried to roll over, stopping short as a dagger met his throat.  
“Now, master Witcher, I would deeply regret havin’ t’harm you,” The innkeeper murmured apologetically, now clad in a brown cloaked hood. Geralt shot him a withering glare. The dark-haired man chuckled.  
“Yeah, yeah, all of the sacrifices are a bit cross with us at first. Give it a moment an’ you won’t mind one bit,” The man gently pushed on Geralt’s shoulder, encouraging him to lie flat again. The witcher complied, but only because there were quite a few villagers and he didn’t see his swords and gear anywhere. Though, that ‘sacrifice’ quip had him worried. The chanting rose in volume, ending with a chorus of ‘Sumac!’ before the crowd of villagers all turned toward the darkened forest and bowed.  
“Great Lord Sumac, hear our plea!” The innkeeper boomed, making Geralt wince as he all but yelled. The villagers cried out the same as one.  
“Lord Sumac, protector of the forest, who tolerates our existence and allows us bounty!”  
“Great Lord Sumac, hear our plea!”  
“Take this sacrifice we offer, so’s that we may have a good harvest, healthy babes, and your protection from the evils of this world!”  
“Great Lord Sumac, hear our plea!” The villagers cried again. Geralt watched the innkeeper move around the stone dias he was laying on and set fire to something near the ground behind his head. The smell of roasting flesh filled his nostrils a moment later. The villagers continued with periodic intervals of ‘Great Lord Sumac, hear our plea!’ as the innkeeper made various gestures and wiped blood on the standing stones surrounding the dias. The witcher had half a mind to try and wriggle out of the ropes binding his knees and ankles and bolt, however his train of thought halted as he heard the caw of a raven over the villagers’ cries.  
The pleas silenced.  
Geralt twisted to see the villagers now completely prostrated on the ground, faces in the grass. He really hoped this Sumac was not what he thought it was as he felt his medallion start to hum gently. The innkeeper moved around the dias and raised his arms, adding one last ‘hear our plea’ before bowing deeply. A raven landed on top of one of the standing stones. Another joined it. A beat later, an entire flock was perched along all of the standing stones surrounding the dias and the witcher. The cloaked innkeeper and the rest of the villagers stood and slowly backed away from the stone circle.

Geralt was just about to try and twist his way off the stone slab again when he heard the distinct sound of a groaning tree, but there wasn’t a breath of wind to cause it. The medallion’s vibration intensified. His head jerked to the side, cat-eyes snapping to an unfortunately recognized form slowly stalking out from the thick copse of trees. A moose’s bleach-white skull loomed out of the darkness as the tall, lanky wooden body strewn with various leather coverings and bone trinkets moved slowly, but with a pointed purpose toward the stone circle.

Geralt muttered a curse behind the gag, struggling to roll onto his stomach for any leverage. The Ancient Leshen stalked closer. The witcher grit his teeth as he managed to flop over with a grunt, wriggling to the edge of the stone slab. His progress was swiftly halted by a long, deceptively thin hand closing around his ankle and yanking him backward. He was roughly rolled onto his back and one of the leshen’s branch-like limbs slammed down onto the stone next to the witcher’s head. The leshen loomed close, hollow eye sockets staring Geralt down. The witcher swallowed dryly. This was not good.  
A raven caw broke the tense silence. The leshen shifted its weight, animal skull moving to seem to look around at the bloodied stones and over the dias to the still burning animal corpse. It gave a very human-esque nod before returning its full attention to the bound grey-haired sacrifice. Geralt abruptly started to smell something over the scent of burning flesh, something sickly sweet and inviting. He took the risk and broke eye contact with the Ancient creature to look for the source. All along the leshen’s upper limbs, tiny fuschia flowers were starting to bloom. As they popped open, they let loose a tiny cloud of some sort of bluish pollen. The sickly sweet smell intensified as more of the tiny flowers popped open and Geralt quickly tried to hold his breath. He had no idea what that was doing, but it couldn’t be good. The leshen’s head tilted to the side, watching the witcher intensely. Apparently, this was a very patient creature as it calmly waited out Geralt’s attempt to hold his breath until the pollen hopefully dissipated. As soon as the witcher broke and took a breath through the gag, the leshen ripped out the gag and clamped its other hand over Geralt’s mouth and nose, sending several puffs of the pollen directly into his sinuses and throat. He coughed and tried to wretch, but the leshen kept its hand firmly in place. The witcher started feeling dizzy and despite being nearly naked, started to feel too hot. His tongue felt too big for his mouth and his sinuses burned.  
The leshen must have noticed the change because it released the witcher and placed both hands on the stone dias to either side of the bound man, watching.  
“What the hell,” Geralt muttered, weakly rolling his head as the pollen completely permeated the air around him. 

It was too hot - _what the hell was in that pollen?_ \- the ropes felt like they were tightening - _leshen didn’t play with their victims like this, what was going on?_ \- his head felt stuffed full of cotton…  
The leshen rumbled another odd creaking sound from its unseen mouth as it called up long, thin vines and roots from the forest floor around the stone slab. They creeped and wriggled up the sides while the leshen used its sharpened talons to carefully rip the ropes off Geralt’s wrists, legs and ankles. The witcher wasn’t free for long, however, as the summoned vines wrapped around his limbs and spread them wide. The still thinking part of the witcher’s mind screamed that this was it, the thing was going to rip him in half as opposed to the preferred crushing method, why wasn’t he trying to struggle? His body wouldn’t listen; the drugged pollen was winning out. Once enough vines had taken hold, the leshen silently commanded them to lift the man off the stone, suspended in the air by the mass of plants. Geralt balked as he was lifted, the dizziness hitting him full force as the forest spun. When his vision settled, he was nearly level with the Ancient Leshen and completely immobile.  
“What - What are you going to do to me?” the witcher’s voice was rough and he couldn’t quite place why, trying to wet his dry lips with a swipe of his equally dry tongue. The leshen answered by simply lifting a hand, extending a single long talon, and placing the sharp tip against the hem of Geralt’s leggings. He blinked. The creature slowly traced downward, garnering a surprised groan from its captive as it teasingly traced the man’s stiffening hardness. Geralt’s eyes widened. When the hell had _that_ happened? Was the pollen an aphrodisiac? The leshen wasn’t giving any answers as its expressionless skull made a great poker face.  
The witcher wanted to protest, struggle, get the hell away from this creature, but his body was completely under whatever spell or drug that pollen had. The leshen’s dangerously sharp claw shifted focus, tracing further down and making Geralt’s body twitch before teasing down the man’s inner thigh. The threat of a slip and a severing of a major artery was not lost on the witcher. Cocking its head, the leshen brought its hand back to the front of the man’s pants, surprisingly articulate enough to loosen the fasteners before allowing its summoned vines to work the garment off its captive, dropping it to the forest floor. Geralt internally flushed at being completely exposed and rendered helpless to stop whatever this forest demon was planning. He could feel the hollow eye sockets giving him a thorough look over before he felt the vines shifting purpose from just holding him aloft and bound. He shivered as his too hot skin was slithered over by smooth plants, the vines wrapping and undulating up his limbs and somehow making him feel more exposed. 

The leshen let out another creaking sound as it wordlessly commanded the vines to begin teasing, rubbing and grazing against every exposed inch of the restrained man, earning muffled groans and sharp hisses from between clenched teeth. One thicker vine slid right up the cleft of his ass. Another loosely wrapped around his throat like a living necklace, toying with the chain of his humming medallion. Several thin vines spread out along his chest, teasing anything they could reach mercilessly. He jerked and twitched involuntarily, fighting the sounds bubbling up his throat. The leshen passively watched its captive writhe against the torturously pleasurable bindings, the man’s hips unconsciously grinding against air as the vines carefully avoided his jutting, needy shaft.  
“Shit,” Geralt hissed, eyes firmly closed as he tried to fight his body’s betrayal. A larger and larger part of his mind kept urging him to just let go, enjoy it, what was the harm? But the witcher knew that had to be the drugged pollen the ancient creature was still releasing. He was abruptly pulled from his internal struggle as a vine no wider than his finger and coated in some kind of mucus slithered up his thigh before questioningly prodding his backside. The witcher’s eyes shot open and glared up at the leshen. The leshen’s hollow sockets stared back as the thin vine rubbed its wet tip against the man thoroughly before pressing inside. Geralt’s breath hitched. The leshen shifted closer and rested its claw-tipped limbs on the witcher’s spread thighs, somehow making the heated skin feel tingly. The restraining vines shifted to accommodate, rearranging their captive to lift and spread his legs further. Geralt weakly protested, but his freely standing need proved otherwise.  
The vine teasing his ass slid deeper, coating his insides with whatever mucus it was covered in. Geralt hissed as it purposefully pressed against a spot that made him see stars, rubbing over it again and again until the witcher was writhing in the leshen’s hold. A choked moan escaped the grey-haired man and the leshen silently commanded its living bindings to move. Teasing, rubbing, squeezing vines worked the dazed witcher over while a second and then a third mucus-coated vine spread him wide surprisingly gently. Still however, nothing touched his jutting, angry red flesh.  
“Fuck, come on,” Geralt groaned, hips thrusting back against the mass of writhing vines rutting in his ass, not caring anymore. His mind was losing all sense and narrowing thought to one goal, thanks to the pollen. The leshen finally allowed a thick vine to slither south, wrapping Geralt’s length completely and gently squeezing in rhythm with the movement of the trio fucking him. The witcher shuddered and moaned, throwing his head back as he surrendered completely to being so thoroughly violated and splattered the vine around his need with a low, breathless moan.  


Even after their captive finished, the leshen’s vines didn’t stop. More thin, mucus coated vines spread his ass wider; twisting, thrusting, and pointedly rubbing that spot that made the witcher see stars over and over. Another weaseled its way past his slack lips and into his mouth, twining with his tongue in a parody of a lover’s kiss. Geralt lost track of time as he was pleasurably tortured for hours into another breathless orgasm. Shuddering and moaning, the witcher was mindless and limp against his bindings by now.  
The ancient leshen made a strange sound under its skull and the vines started anew. Geralt whimpered in surrender, his body aching but still eagerly reacting to the overstimulation. He silently cursed his mutated stamina. It didn’t take nearly as long as the first or second time to drive a third, weak and edging on painful orgasm out of the man, driving him to blissfully pass out.

\-----

Geralt slowly came to, wincing against the light filtering in from the sun high above and threw his sore arm over his face with a groan. What had he _drank_ last night? His mouth felt like cotton and his tongue felt like sandpaper. And this bed was terrible, hard and cold and - the witcher froze. Slowly, the entire pervious evening’s proceedings flooded back to Geralt. He cracked open an eye and groaned as the stone slab, loose circle of standing stones, and forest swam into view. With a hiss, the grey-haired man rolled off the slab and shakily stood, still feeling some of the after-effects of the pollen and the...activities. Surprisingly, he was relatively clean considering what he remembered in glazed vignettes with a shudder. Shaking the thoughts from his mind and glancing around, Geralt spotted a chest he hadn’t noticed before tucked behind one of the standing stones. He flicked it open to reveal all of his gear, including his leggings carefully folded on top. 

Geralt internally debated on how to deal with the leshen while he quickly dressed and grabbed his swords, feeling much better with their familiar weight on his back. An Ancient Leshen loose in Velen sounded problematic, however it seemed to be non-violent - arguably for a leshen, anyway. It did explain why all of the Baron’s tax collectors left dazed. Had it not been for his mutations, Geralt felt he wouldn’t have been able to recall anything from the previous night. He wondered if the villagers knew the details, or if the victims had simply wandered home on their own.  
A loud caw broke the witcher’s train of thought. He snapped his gaze upward and spotted a large, black raven watching him from the branch of a tree. He narrowed his eyes at it before continuing. 

He wasn’t sure which direction was out, but any direction away from the stone circle and the village nearby would work for the tired and sore grey-haired witcher for now.

**Author's Note:**

> This has turned into a full series as I come up with scenarios for these poor boys... 
> 
> I also adore comments! Even if its to tell me how horrible I am for writing these~


End file.
